


Make It A Triple

by 51stCenturyFox



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunk Sex, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Multi, Not THAT Drunk, Oral Sex, Pining, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:16:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony’s lips are on his again, surprisingly soft and warm and his beard isn’t scratchy at all, but pleasant, and his mouth tastes faintly of scotch, and that’s Pepper’s other hand on his shoulder, between them, tightening there.</p><p>Steve pulls his head back, slightly. “Sorry,” he says, and he’s not sure which of them he’s addressing, but he’s had Long Island iced teas and Adios, Motherfuckers and he can maybe pretend later that he didn’t know any better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It A Triple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [copperbadge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/gifts).



> Beta thanks to neifile7 and to copperbadge, who got to beta even though this story is a birthday present. Virgos like doing that, though. It's like two presents in one.

He’d never have guessed it at first, but it turns out Natasha is a champ of a listener. She’s the sort who makes appropriate faces and appropriate noises and pats his arm at the right times. Steve supposes that’s because she’s had an unusual past too...but as well as she listens, she rarely talks about herself, so Steve has no way to really know.

“So that’s why you look at Tony and Pepper that way,” she says one Saturday afternoon. It’s the time of day Steve likes best, when the sun dips low on the horizon and throws a magical glow over the city.

“Why? What way?” Steve asks, confused. He hadn’t been talking about Tony or Pepper at all; he’d been telling Natasha about the war, and what had happened when he’d been dropped off to infiltrate the HYDRA base and free Bucky and the others. He can’t talk about what happened on Arnim Zola’s armored train, not yet.

Maybe not ever.

She bends her neck to one side and then the other, smiles at the faint clicking sound and leans against the windowsill, Manhattan reflecting a golden-to-persimmon shimmer below. Steve picks up a pastel and adds a swipe of color to the side of Natasha’s profile in his drawing. He draws, and talks, and she swirls the ice in her glass and listens, on afternoons like this.

Natasha studies her drink. “Describing Howard and Peggy -- if I didn’t know better, they sound like Tony and Pepper.”

Steve frowns and sets down the tablet. “No, I don’t think so. Obviously Tony’s something like his father, being such a whiz and all.” Tony also reminds him of Bucky, in a way he still can't put into words.

“And Pepper’s frighteningly competent and takes shit from nobody,” Natasha points out.

“Well, takes one to know one,” Steve says with a laugh.

“And you watch them when they’re together like they’re in a film.”

“I don’t look at them that way. I don’t _watch_ them,” Steve protests, but it’s the feeblest sort of lie, because he does. He watches Tony and Pepper -- together and apart -- all the time, when they’re not looking his way. They do remind him of one of those couples in some of the pictures he likes, Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn, maybe (and that had been a shock too, seeing the silver screen stars age. It’s that, he thinks, that made the passage of years while he was under the ice finally hit home.) So many people he’d known in person were just...gone, and he remembers them the way he saw them months ago, not at 40 years old, or 50, or 75, but seeing the actors he’d known as a kid develop wrinkles and gray hair in film after film, that’s strange, so he tells Natasha about that, too.

“Steve,” Natasha interrupts him, rattling the melted-down slivers of ice in her glass, and he shakes himself out of his reverie and stands, holding his hand out. He’s a good bartender now; he knows that Natasha likes three ice cubes covered with vodka and tonic over the top of that, the way Pepper favors as many olives as he can fit into the martini, and how Tony likes his scotch, in a specific crystal highball glass. So he fills Natasha’s drink, pours a Coke for himself and finishes the drawing as they sit in congenial silence.

*

Tony _is_ like Howard in some ways; he’s brash and flashy and he makes useful items for Steve. Not just because he likes Steve -- he’s generous with his time and wants to bolster the team by refining their weapons, their gear, the things they wear in the field. Pepper is snappy and clever and bosses Tony around sweetly, and Steve longs to do more than watch them sometimes, but being on the outside is at least something familiar from his life before. He can’t feel that bad about it.

Steve hadn’t warmed to Tony when they’d first met, but battling a common enemy can turn things around pretty quickly; he’d learned that lesson in the war. And then Tony had wedged his way into Steve’s life by increments, from the first call when he was on the road: “Where are you? How long is this Easy Rider road trip going to last? I built you a suite and Pepper has some designer with her and needs to know right now what surfaces you want in the kitchen -- granite or Sahara quartz or something else -- I don’t know what; you pick. Here, I’m patching you in.”

So he’d moved to the Tower, because he doesn’t know anybody else anymore but the team, and it turns out that he likes them all: Tony and Pepper and Clint and Natasha and Bruce. He likes Thor too, but Thor has places to rule and people to lead.

Pepper and Tony always offer to include him when it’s just the three of them around the place, but sometimes he feels like a third wheel and begs off. And that’s when Tony reminds him of Bucky, and all those setups with dames who never liked him, back when he was small. Back when he wished Bucky would stop setting him up and just spend time with him instead.

But when Tony does things with him, Steve feels a little guilty for taking up the free time he could be spending with Pepper. 

It’s complicated.

He’s tried to meet people to take on dates, different gals. Clint set him up with an artist, but she was...very eccentric. Bruce set him up with a woman he knew from a homeless-aid institute, one week when he and Steve traveled upstate to help with housing starts. He’d thought Steve would hit it off with Katie, and she was certainly nice enough, but he didn’t feel the urge to ask her for anything else but instructions about when to pour bags of concrete into mixing machines and how long to hold up framing. He just couldn’t make himself feel anything for her.

“Bruce tells us you’ve rejected yet another attempt at matchmaking,” Pepper says over the video on his laptop.

“Yeah, well.” Steve offers a half-shrug. “Chemistry is a funny thing.”

“If it doesn’t fit, don’t force it,” Tony chimes in over Pepper’s shoulder, waving a coffee mug. “Take it from an engineer.”

“There are plenty of fish in the sea, Steve,” says Pepper earnestly. “Billions.”

“I’d settle for just one,” Steve says.

“If there was ever a guy who doesn’t have to settle, it’s you, Captain Ab-merica,” Tony remarks, holding up a magazine. “You just made People’s list of 50 Most Beautiful.”

Steve groans into his hands.

*

When the six houses are done, standing straight and sturdy, Steve heads back to the Tower while Bruce goes south again to Mexico temporarily to help set up a mobile clinic.

Natasha had left this morning too, aiming for the Helicarrier to stage an infiltration mission, smiling when she peered into the brown paper bag Steve handed her to match Clint’s.

“What kind of sandwich is it this time?” Clint had asked, because they had a pattern now.

“Cheese and ham.”

“Thanks, grandpa!”

So Natasha and Clint were away, Bruce was doing good away from his lab for a while, Thor was presumably still in Asgard, and it was just the Tony, Pepper, and Steve show again.

Or the Tony-and-Pepper show. And Steve.

*

“You decent?” Tony calls out from the hallway before barging into Steve’s suite. “What am I saying; you’re a paragon of human decency.”

Steve rolls his eyes at that, but he is indeed mostly dressed, just fumbling with his bow tie. Tony gently slaps his hands away and lifts Steve’s chin out of the way with a knuckle before finishing the job.

“That’s better. We can be seen with you in public now.”

“Gee thanks, Tony. Honored.”

Pepper’s there then, with a huge smile and a glass of white wine in her hand. “You are stunning in black tie,” she says to Steve as he shrugs into the dinner jacket he’d worn only once before, when the Avengers were given the key to the city. 

“So are you,” Steve says, coloring. Pepper is lovely, in a pale green shimmery dress that hugs her curves all the way down before flaring out below her knees. “I mean, in that dress. You remind me of a...beautiful...mermaid.”

Pepper giggles and pinches her nose like a diver, shimmying her hips.

Tony eyes her drink. “You lush, you’re cut off,” he says, and she clucks and hands it to him in order to brush a piece of lint from Steve’s shoulder and straighten his lapels. Steve warms a bit; he wouldn’t admit it, but it’s pleasant being fussed over by the two of them. Pepper smells good, too, like spice and roses. Tony smells like spice and something else indefinable, and Steve wonders if they have a fancy perfumer whip up customized scents that make them smell as good in tandem as they look together.

“How does your hair do that? It’s always perfect,” Tony ponders aloud, surreptitiously downing Pepper’s wine with a wink at Steve. “Is it the serum or is it Brylcreem?”

“Say, do they still make it?” Steve asks. “I wouldn’t mind picking some up.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but Pepper smiles. “We can stop at Duane Reade on the way home.”

“Shouldn’t be too late. These charity dinners are dull as fuck,” Tony says, shrugging innocently as Pepper retrieves her drained glass from his hand with a disappointed frown. “That’s why we’re getting soused now, to make it marginally interesting. I’d blow it off, but they’re naming a thing after me.”

“What?” Steve asks.

“A building?” Tony ventures. “Maybe a wing of a building? A school? I’m sure the program will clear things up.”

“A school. I have briefing notes ready. You should probably dial it down a notch,” Pepper says. “They’ll want you to say a few words.”

“Blah. I can ‘say a few words’ in my sleep,” Tony snorts. “Too bad Steve can’t get buzzed with us. You can’t, can you?”

“I can’t,” Steve confirms. “Metabolism runs four times as fast as the average person.”

Tony rubs his chin. “That means you could just drink four times as much - and it should work, right? Have you actually tried it?”

“I’m never that thirsty,” Steve deadpans. “And besides, don’t you need me to drive?”

“Pssh. Happy’s on duty tonight. So how about it? Let’s pour you some high-proof doubles and get you soused. Come on, you haven’t done anything with us in a long time. It’ll be fun.”

“Um,” Steve says, and Pepper looks up at him and nudges his shoulder with her own.

“Come on. You don’t have to get up early tomorrow, and the worst than can happen is it won’t take, right?”

Steve remembers back before the serum, the times he’d gone out to bars or passed a bottle hanging over the alley with Bucky, and thinks that there are probably worse things that could happen if he gets drunk, but on the other hand, he’s a grown man now, not a kid, and it looks like fun, feeling carefree, the way Pepper’s starting to and Tony is by nature.

He shrugs. “Okay, I guess. Do your worst.”

Tony grins, slapping his palms together, and then checks his watch. “Let’s start now, huh?”

“We’ll be late,” Pepper cautions.

“We’ll be there in time to pick at a terrible fusion dinner and hold up the giant check for the grip-and-grin, Pep. Let’s skip the mingle beforehand though, huh?”

Pepper looks dubious for a moment. “Okay.”

At his living room bar, Tony runs his fingers over labels on the bottles. “What’s your poison, Cap?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I always liked...beer?”

“That’ll go right through you. Defeats the purpose. Scotch?”

Steve eyes Tony. He’d ask about schnapps, but given Dr Erskine, he’d probably cry into it. “I never really got accustomed to the taste of hard liquor. And that’s kinda strong, isn’t it?”

“Um, _yeah_. Cask strength, hombre.” Tony picks up a bottle. “That’s the point.”

“Right, that's it then.”

“Better idea,” Pepper slaps the bar. “Long Island iced tea.”

“Ooh. Yes.” Tony nods quickly, putting down a highball glass and choosing a taller one, then dropping in some crushed ice.

“What’s in that?”

“Everything! It’ll fuck you up,” Pepper laughs, and then bites her lip at Steve’s expression. “I mean, you know, in a positive way?”

Apparently, drinking makes Pepper swear.

Tony pours from various bottles and grabs a silvery swizzle stick and mixes things up before handing him the drink and watching as Steve takes a tentative sip.

“That’s... _good_ ,” he says. He’d expected it to burn his mouth like Bucky’s whisky had once upon a time, but this... “It doesn’t even taste like alcohol.”

“Oh, there’s alcohol in it, all right,” Pepper says.

Steve takes a bigger sip, then tips back the glass as she watches. “You do look very pretty tonight, Pepper,” he says, randomly, and Tony sulks.

“Why is no one complimenting me?”

“You’re pretty too, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” Steve sighs, and Tony preens in reply.

*

“I don’t know,” Steve squints. “I’m starting to feel a little...what do you call it?” He waves his fingers in the air. He’d had seven more drinks at the affair to Tony’s two, and they hadn’t eaten much at the dinner; Tony thought the chicken was terrible, but Steve didn’t mind it. Still, Tony planned for pizza or some other food delivery later on.

“Buzzed?” Pepper laughs, finishing his sentence.

“Buzzed!” Steve confirms, pointing back at her in triumph, a little too loudly. He looks around them. but no one’s on the street. “Buzzed. Yes. Things are a little blurry.”

“Excellent,” Tony says, as the car pulls up. “Because you are _not_ a cheap date. I’m tipsy myself.”

“Just tipsy?” Pepper asks. She’d stayed with white wine, but more than usual. “I mean, that’s where I am, too.”

“Let’s go home and step it up, then,” Tony crows in reply as the car pulls up. Not waiting for Happy, he opens the back door and ushers Pepper and Steve in. “I get to sit in the middle. Make a hole!”

“You can sit across from us,” Pepper scolds. “No reason to squish together.”

But Tony insists. “Doesn’t the middle of the back seat have a name?” he asks, wedging himself between Pepper and Steve. “Happy, what is it?”

Happy rolls his eyes and shrugs. “I don’t remember,” he says, but even Steve knows it’s called the bitch seat, which is something he’s not drunk enough to say, especially in front of Pepper.

“The penis in between us,” Pepper mutters, and Steve is so surprised that he laughs out loud.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for laughing!” Tony says. “I can be a dick sometimes. Owning it.”

“I didn’t mean...” Steve fumbles, but Pepper reaches across Tony and grips his wrist, grinning, and he can’t help grinning back at her. Yes, he’s buzzed, definitely.

*

Steve’s standing at the bar watching Tony make him a different drink, because he admits he’s tired of the Long Islands (after four more -- which are battling the curative properties of the serum well enough to handily maintain his feeling of loose, happy tipsiness.) It’s got tequila and rum and blue cura-something in it and it’s apparently called an Adios, Motherfucker.

It’s between sweet and sour. And very _bright_ , like the super-soldier serum. “Is this going to make me whiz blue? Or green?” Steve asks, because the filter’s definitely off now.

“Maybe?” Tony squints at the glass. “Hey, that reminds me of something that’s always bugged the hell out of me. if Green Lantern hates the color yellow, and it’s like his kryptonite, what does he do when he pees? Pass out in fear? Or does it make him pee more, in fear?”

Steve guffaws at the thought, turning it into a messy cough as Pepper groans. “Wow, you really know how to lower the tone,” she says, wrinkling her nose, which Steve finds adorable even if he started the tone-lowering. Or was it Pepper? He’s about to take the blame for it and let her know she’s adorable (again) but she wiggles off her barstool. “I need dance music!”

“JARVIS-” Tony says loudly, but Pepper interrupts.

“My workout playlist, JARVIS!” Pepper’s face lights up when the music starts and she kicks off her heels and starts jiving to the beat.

“Traitor.” Tony pulls a face. “This is terrible,” he says in Steve’s ear, his breath tickling at it, making him raise a shoulder, catch his breath.

“I know you hate it, but I don’t care,” Pepper yells over the music, hands to the sky as she whirls. “This is me, waving my arms like I just don’t care, see?”

Since the lyrics of the song are clearly instructing the listener to do just that, Steve laughs, turning to Tony and seeing his deep brown eyes crinkle at the corners, the way he always likes.

Steve sips his drink, and Tony pokes a finger beneath the bottom of his glass, tipping it up. Taken by surprise, Steve tries to adjust to the angle, but misses and douses his shirt with blue-tinged...whatever-it’s-called. “Whoops.”

“Whoops,” Tony says. “Adios, Motherfucker!” He rescues the bow tie, before putting his highball glass in Steve’s other hand and attacking his button covers.

“What are you doing?”

“Need to soak this in club soda. It’s blue, Stevie-boy,” Tony says, and looking down, he can see that’s the case, but he’s a little amazed that Tony would care about a shirt, and that he himself doesn’t really give a rip. Tony’s eyes meet his when he looks up again, and Steve flinches up a little, surprised, when Tony tugs at the shirt where it’s tucked into his trousers. “Why won’t this -- come -- out?” Tony grumbles. “Is it stapled on?”

“Shirt garters,” Steve says. “Attached to the socks, so they keep the shirt nice and...”

“Oh, fuck me sideways; you military boys and your aversion to wrinkles,” Tony says, and unbuttons Steve’s tuxedo pants to unclip the shirt. Steve would stop him, he would, but he’s got half of a blue drink in one hand and Tony’s scotch in the other. He bites his lip as Tony reaches down each pants leg in turn to unclip the straps hooking his shirttails to his socks. ”Turn around,” Tony orders, and Steve wonders idly how he’s going to keep his pants up, but Tony manages to hold his waistband with one hand as he reaches down again behind him.

“This is awkward,” he says over his shoulder, but he can’t help tapping his foot to the song, which is telling everybody (yeahhh) to rock their bodies (yeahhh).

“No, it’s awesome,” Tony says when Steve turns around again. He bucks backward when Tony fastens his fly. “Whoops. Not trying to touch your junk, Steve.”

“No, not _trying_.” he replies, and that earns him a wicked smirk from Tony, who takes the drinks from his hands and nods at his chest.

“Shirt off,” Tony says, and Steve pulls it off, pausing to undo the cufflinks when it’s slipped halfway off his shoulders, because of course he’d forgotten about those.

“Happy now? Steve says, free of sodden, sticky cotton.

“Almost. Your undershirt,” Tony sets their drinks on the bar and Steve considers why he didn’t think to do that when Tony’s hands were down his pants. “It’s wet, too. And blue.”

“It’s just an undershirt,” Steve protests, but Tony’s pulling at the bottom of it and Steve lets him yank it off, lifting his arms as a new song starts.

“Woo!” Pepper hoots, dancing towards them. She plucks up the bowtie still over Tony’s arm and reaches up, draping it around Steve’s neck before she ties it. “Now you’re a Chippendales dancer,” she says, giggling.

“I’ll show you a video later,” Tony says at Steve’s befuddled look. “Or maybe a...calendar.”

“Your love, your love, your love, is my drug!” Pepper sings loudly, prancing away.

“You’re gonna wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy, Pep!” Tony shouts over the music, dumping Steve’s shirts in the wet bar sink and pouring club soda over them as Pepper laughs and launches into another joyful spin.

...and Steve’s having trouble taking his eyes off of her. He’s having very bad thoughts right now, thoughts about Pepper’s backside in that dress, and how it might be a good idea to get up and dance with her. That’s only polite though, isn’t it? He takes a courage slug of the replacement drink Tony’s eased into his hand.

“It isn’t fair,” Pepper pouts at Tony, coming to a wavering stop, and maybe it’s for the best, because there’s no way Steve can move to this music with any sort of grace, even sober. “Steve’s the only one half-dressed.” Tony looks down and flicks off his suspenders, then begins pulling off his pants, and drags his socks off as he moves downward, so he’s clad in red silky skivvies with his snowy tuxedo shirt on top, bow tie loosened to hang around his neck. 

“Perfect!” Pepper says, handing him his sunglasses from the bar, and Tony gamely puts them on.”Chippendales and Risky Business!” she says, taking a photo of them.

“Oh don’t-” Steve starts, and Pepper laughs as she thumbs in a message on his phone.

“Just sending to Natasha, don’t worry.”

Steve winces inwardly, hoping that her phone’s off or that the Helicarrier is out of range so she won’t get the picture, because she’ll probably share it with Clint and he’ll never hear the end of this.

“It’s really not fair that you’re still wearing all of _your_ clothes, Pep,” Tony says with a leer, and she shrugs, tossing the phone back on the bar.

“I’m not,” she declares, resuming her dance routine. “I ditched my underwear when you weren’t looking.”

Tony groans and buries his head in Steve’s bare chest. It’s...nice. Steve almost spills his drink again, so he sets it down and makes his way to the bathroom for what has to be the seventh time.

When he returns, the music isn’t as loud, and Tony’s singing along: “I have heard, among this clan, you are called the forgotten man.” He points at Steve and grabs his knee as he sinks to the sofa beside him.

“That’s from High Society,” Pepper interjects, plopping herself down on his other side, and Steve brightens. He knows that picture, watched it just the other week. Twice.

“Bing Crosby?” he says. “And Frank Sinatra.”

“This is the Iggy Pop version,” Tony grins. “Have you heard the story of...a boy, a girl, unrequited love?” Tony croons in his ear, picking up Pepper’s hand and Steve’s, holding them both up together, and Steve knows he’s going red in the face, and it isn’t just the fault of the booze.

“Sounds like pure soap opera, I may cry!” Pepper sings, rubbing her head against Steve’s bare shoulder.

“What a swell party this is,” Steve chimes in, joining them, happy that he actually knows the words to something on their stereo, and blinks. “I do believe I’m definitely...buzzed.”

“Good,” Pepper murmurs, and Tony leans in and kisses him. When he pulls away, Steve’s eyes are still closed, and he remembers to open them and blink again. Pepper’s looking at them, and he thinks that’s amusement on her face, hopes it is, anyway. Their hands are still clasped together, and she winds her fingers into his.

“That happened the last time I had too much to drink, before the serum,” Steve blurts out. “I kissed Bucky on a fire escape.”

It was something he’d never told anybody else, but here he is, slightly drunk and Tony’s obviously the same, because who kisses their friends that way? Drunk people.

Tony lets out a deep breath. “Good. You kiss guys. That means I’m not getting decked.”

“I don’t, though,” Steve says. “I don’t kiss any-” he says, but then Tony’s lips are on his again, surprisingly soft and warm and his beard isn’t scratchy at all, but pleasant, and his mouth tastes faintly of scotch, and that’s Pepper’s other hand on his shoulder, between them, tightening there. Steve pulls his head back, slightly. “Sorry,” he says, and he’s not sure which of them he’s addressing, but he’s had Long Island iced teas and Adios, Motherfuckers and he can maybe pretend later that he didn’t know any better.

“Stop apologizing, Steve,” Pepper says, leaning into his ear.

“Did you like that?” Tony asks softly.

Steve swallows hard. “Yes.” _Maybe too much._ “I should maybe...I should go to bed,” he says, and Tony’s hand curls around the outside of his thigh, against Pepper’s hip.

“Yeah, ours,” Tony murmurs. “With us.”

Steve can’t speak, and he knows his mouth’s hanging open, but Tony can’t mean...

“Please?” Pepper stands and gives his hand an ineffectual tug. “I’d drag you there but I _can’t_.”

“I...” Steve says, and Pepper leans down to kiss him, just as Tony had -- insistent but so, so sweet -- and Tony’s fingers are tucking little strands of her strawberry-red hair back so they won’t get in the way. He feels something give in his chest, and when she breaks the kiss, Steve just nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

And that must be why people drink, because then they can just say “okay” when two of their very attractive friends (who are _together_ ) suggest going to bed with them.

There’s no way Steve will say no; even though he should be used to being on the outside by now, he wants this desperately. Is one night of Tony-and-Pepper-and-Steve too much to ask?

“We could just roll around,” Pepper says, leading him down the hall. “Or cuddle or something. If you’re tired.”

“That’s setting the bar pretty low, Pep,” Tony laughs, but he has Steve’s other hand, and they’re all suddenly standing there at the foot of the huge bed together and that...was certainly a short walk.

“We could play Red Rover,” Steve says, giving each of their hands a squeeze and swinging them, and it’s Tony’s turn to look baffled. “It’s a playground game.” Steve lifts his hand and bravely plants a kiss to Tony’s knuckles. He’s pleased to see Tony’s eyes close at that, and to hear the little sound he makes in his throat.

“I understand that reference,” Pepper says, the running joke, and turning away but looking over her shoulder, she reaches behind her back and tugs at her zipper, and the pale green dress shivers to the floor. “We’d need more people, though.”

“Oh, now _that’s_ kinky,” Tony smirks, as Steve ensures his mouth is shut and he’s not actively drooling as he lets his eyes slide over Pepper’s figure.

She wasn’t kidding -- she wasn’t wearing underwear beneath the dress, and suddenly he’s a lot closer to her, because Tony’s pushing him forward onto the bed and she’s already there in front of him, undoing his fly as Tony skims his thumbs along his shoulder blades. They’re barely touching him, and it’s already so _much_.

“Pepper, I’m--”

“Shy?” She asks, arching a brow, and he is, a little, but he’s also hard already and clearly she knows that, because her fingertips are right there outside the starched cotton of his boxers and they’re stroking against his length, and god, that feels amazing. She leans up on her knees and presses her lips to Steve’s collarbone, still caressing him gently. “Mmmm,” she says. “Not shy.”

“Are you bringing Little Steve out to play?” Tony says behind him, and Steve’s slightly embarrassed, but Tony’s hands are playing along his sides now and pushing his pants and boxers completely off, and he has to step out of them so he kneels on the bed and grips Pepper’s shoulders. He really wants to touch her everywhere, but starting here is just fine.

“That...is a serious misnomer,” Pepper says saucily, and then Steve knows he’s blushing, but Tony’s on the bed next to them, smiling, pulling them both down with him into the center of the bed, and Steve realizes he hasn’t gotten to undress anyone, even himself, so attacks Tony’s shirt buttons -- cuffs first -- with focus.

Pepper moves to Tony’s other side, waiting for him to finish, and Steve makes short work of the buttons and deposits the little glossy covers in the pocket of the closest pair of pants as Tony pulls off the shirt and the undershirt beneath. It’s thick, lined cotton, and Steve, hand skating up Tony’s stomach, realizes he hadn’t seen the glow of the arc reactor all night. Pepper reaches over and traces along its edges, then nudges up Steve’s hand so he can do the same.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to touch it before. It’s cooler than Tony’s skin, just slightly, the flesh surrounding it scarred.

Tony groans then, and Steve flinches. “Does that hurt?”

“No, it’s just...hands...lower.”

“So impatient,” Pepper tsks, but obligingly reaches downward just as Steve does, their fingers meet around Tony’s dick and the groan he makes this time is much different.

Steve smiles at that, and leans forward to kiss Pepper over Tony’s chest, meeting her above the clear blue light. She’s a hungry kisser, nipping at Steve’s lips, sliding her tongue against his insistently, and Steve whimpers softly.

“God,” Tony hisses. “Between the teamwork handjob and watching the two of you suck face, I am not gonna last.”

“Charming way with words, Tony,” Steve says, though sucking face is pretty apt. Pepper smiles and leans down to capture Tony’s mouth, and Steve concentrates on his cock, dragging a thumb over the now-slippery head, and Tony bucks upward. Steve likes that, likes the way his skin feels in his hand, hot and urgent. He repositions himself over Tony’s legs and not overthinking it, takes him into his mouth, and Tony tries to buck again, but Steve’s hand presses into one of his hips and holds him still.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Tony says into Pepper’s mouth, and she laughs, easing down to his chest to meet Steve’s eyes, dragging her fingertips behind Steve’s head and down to the curve of his neck. “Am I dreaming?” Tony asks the ceiling. "Or is this actually occurring right now?”

“Yes,” Pepper says, and Steve eases his mouth away, licking a wide stripe up Tony’s dick, making him writhe on the bed.

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says breathlessly.

“You do this for money on weekends?” Tony asks, and Pepper swats him on the chest. “Ow. He’s good, though.” He looks down at Steve, pulls his chin up with his fingers, and Steve’s getting used to him doing that all the time. “You’re so, so good at that, Steve.”

“I uh...thank you, I think, but...no, that’s not it, it’s that I’m...” Steve pauses, uncertain, as Pepper scratches her fingernails gently along the side of his neck. “I’m not drunk anymore.”

“Me either, really,” Pepper says. “Do you want me to bring you another, or--” she motions towards the other room.

“No. No, it’s not that. I think my inhibitions are on leave. Just thought I should say something, in case you thought maybe we should...stop?”

Tony flings a hand over his forehead. “No, god no, please don’t stop. I’m definitely not in hammertime territory here. I have a very high tolerance.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Good.”

“Great. So on that note...” Tony says, and grabs the back of Steve’s head.

“Tony!” says Pepper, but Steve just smiles into Tony’s thigh and edging forward, takes him into his mouth again.

“Yay!” Tony cheers softly, raising a fist in triumph, and Steve has to concentrate and suck harder to keep from laughing.

Because this is the most fun he’s had since he woke up.

Tony’s right; he doesn’t last long with Steve’s mouth around him, and Pepper’s pushing at Steve’s shoulder to let him know -- like he can’t tell from the content of Tony’s heated monologue -- but he persists, moves his lips downward, and swallows as Tony stops talking and comes. It’s not bad at all, just different, and the look on Tony’s face, the trembling of his thighs, are worth it. Tony pulls him up and into another kiss, and Steve’s more surprised at the idea that he doesn’t mind tasting himself than that he's rolling with this himself like it’s all second nature.

Steve decides he’ll think about that later. Right now, there’s the promised cuddling and rolling around and more kissing and tasting and gentle touches. Steve is hard as a rock under Tony’s big, warm hand as he leans back against him, and Pepper is laving a line down the center of his chest with the flat of her tongue. It gets even better when she tugs at his shoulders, licking her lips, pushes him down on the bed and climbs on top, her fingers deft around his cock.

“Oh,” Steve breathes. Tony’s holding a foil-wrapped condom up between two fingers and Pepper nods.

“Yes please,” she says, searching Steve’s eyes. “If you want to?”

“Of course I do,” he says, hoarsely, with a squeeze of her hips, and then Tony is stroking Steve’s dick again and sliding on the rubber with Pepper’s help, and she’s sinking down on him slowly. 

Steve realizes he can touch her, wherever he can. He coasts his hands along her side and reaches up to cup her breasts and move to tease them just as Tony angles in to kiss her, and that’s...that’s quite a sight.

“You’re so...” Steve starts to say, but everything he can think of sounds like a cliché. _Hot. Beautiful. Amazing._ She is, they both are, so he just watches, and feels.

Tony moves back and forth between them, and his tongue is tangled with Steve’s, fingers working her where they’re joined, when Pepper starts making figure-eights with her hips. Steve gasps, and Tony pulls back a little, just watching, before guiding Steve’s hands to the backs of her thighs.

“Pep’s doing all the work,” Tony whispers, and she turns to him and grins.

“I’m glad to finally hear you acknowledge that this happens.”

“Sorry...” Steve manages. He’s a little afraid of hurting her, hurting them. He’s _strong,_ after all.

“No!” Pepper frowns, and grinds down on him harder. “Tony, be quiet.”

But Steve arches his back then, and clamps down on her hips, holding her still as he thrusts upward, hard but careful, finding a rhythm again, and oh, she likes that. Pepper throws her head back, and _screamer_ isn’t the right word, but the noises she makes...these throaty little cries...

He can’t help thrusting faster, until he breaks apart and she collapses forward onto his chest, her hair falling loose around his neck.

“Mmm,” she says, but Steve is speechless.

Tony’s got a huge glass of water they pass around, and little white aspirins, and Pepper brings a warm washcloth, which is great, because Steve doesn’t think his legs will work. Not because he’s physically worn out; he can take a lot, but because...

(Because maybe getting what you didn’t realize you wanted more than anything can take a lot out of you.)

He can’t help drifting off as they talk over him, their idle touches growing softer and voices becoming fainter, something about the serum probably regenerating his liver from scratch, and someone calling him sleeping beauty and kissing his ear.

It’s the best.

*

Steve’s the first to wake, and it’s really too early to get up after a late night -- just after dawn. He checks his phone, and a message is blinking from Natasha:

`I get back in six days. Details?!`

But there are some things he keeps to himself, so he texts back a smiley face and settles back down into his pillow.

Tony is facedown on the bed, on top of the covers and facing away, and Steve lets his gaze travel over his body in the milky light from the bank of windows. He smiles as Pepper shifts under the hand he has flat on her stomach, and rubs a careful circle over her bare flesh with his thumb. He doesn’t want to close his eyes again; he wants to remember always what it was like, being here, watching Tony-and-Pepper sleep.

His eyelids are slipping shut despite his persistence much later when the sun is higher, and Tony suddenly sits up halfway. “Fuck,” he says, scrubbing at an eye with the heel of his hand, and Steve bites his lip as Pepper stirs under his palm.

Steve suddenly wants to disappear. They were going to regret this, then, he thinks, as he watches Tony drag a pillow into his lap, facing them.

“Fuck,” Tony repeats, shaking his head. “I am so unbelievably hungry.”

“What time is it?” Pepper murmurs.

“Either too early or too late for drunkfast,” Tony says, and Steve lifts a brow.

“Drunkfast,” Pepper explains, “is Tonyspeak for breakfast the early morning after the night before.”

“Usually consisting of the greasiest food possible,” adds Tony. “You know, like diner food.”

“Ah,” Steve says softly, and sure, he could eat, too. “I see the appeal.”

“Dammit,” Pepper says, raising her head and a hand to grip Steve’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, the unease creeping back, and she shakes her head.

“We forgot your Brylcreem,” she mutters, and drops her head back to the pillow. “Sorry about that.”

“Well, we were drunk,” Steve says helplessly.

“We weren’t that drunk,” Tony replies, and reaches across Pepper to give Steve’s side a tweak. “Hey, does Brylcreem stink?”

“It has...a light scent? But a little dab’ll do ya,” he says, repeating the ad.

“ _I’ll_ do ya,” Tony says slowly, with an exaggerated wink. “I just don’t want the pillows to smell like 1944.”

“The pillows...” Steve says, and he must be misunderstanding something, because he thinks Tony’s intimating that this might happen again, and he almost forgets to breathe.

“They won’t, Tony, jesus. You use my mango mousse,” Pepper says, turning to face Steve. “Don’t listen to him.” She slides her fingers over the side of his jaw lightly before leaning in to kiss him, slow and deep, and she even tastes good after sleeping. “Good morning,” she says. “Hangover headache?”

“Good morning,” Steve murmurs. “And no.” The relief he feels is palpable, and it has nothing to do with waking without a headache.

“Somebody kiss _me_ ,” Tony whines, jogging a knee up and down. “I’m all the way over here and nobody’s kissing me.”

“I thought you were hungry, Grumpy,” Pepper says. “And so am I. Breakfast and then kissing? And maybe more?” She looks up at Steve with a small smile and brushes hair off his forehead. “If you don’t mind eating first.”

“Nobody’s bringing me eggs, either,” Tony moans.

“He’s always like this when he gets up, it’s like he’s five,” Pepper adds, as Tony makes an indignant noise and starts griping about coffee. “You’ll get used to it.”

Pepper presses another quick kiss to Steve’s lips and climbs over Tony, who edges his way over to Steve, throws an arm over his shoulder, and faceplants into his chest. 

_You’ll get used to it._

Yes, he thinks, as he wraps his arms around a still-mumbling Tony, he will.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the [Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra version](http://youtu.be/7kq1JQUhwVQ) of Well, Did You Evah? from High Society, and [the Iggy Pop and Debbie Harry version](http://youtu.be/vjejqJVUYOU).
> 
> amandr is responsible for "You'll wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy." Because she said it to me.


End file.
